Well, Hello There Stranger

It feels surreal to be here again. Writing again. On this blog again. It's literally been years since I wrote something, but I have been realizing lately that I need to venture back here - even if it's painful and tedious and not pleasant at all.

Maybe on another day, in another post, I will attempt to describe what has been my new normal for the last year and a half. But I won't today. Today I just need to talk about something that has been weighing on my heart heavily for years and something that I have been deeply mourning the past two weeks.

If you've known me for any length of time, you know that I love being a Mama. Yes, there are hours and days and seasons that are insanely difficult and I tell Andrew that I don't know if I can do it again the next day, but at my core, I absolutely love it. I love my two boys, I love being a stay-at-home Mama, I love homeschooling, I love sweet cuddles and  I love the sound of their voices when they say "I love you Mama" along with bedtime hugs.

If you've been around me a bit longer, and have sat and heard me pour out my heart, you know that I have always dreamed of a big family. Not massive, but 3-5 kids and a minivan. Full dinner tables, and a cacophony of noise throughout a small house that's bursting with love and chaos and Jesus Loves Me.

Only a small handful of you know this next part though. You've seen the mourning and you've heard the quiver in my voice and you've seen mascara running down my cheeks. There is a part of me, a big part if I'm honest, that doesn't want to write this and share this. But despite wanting to pretend that I am fine, that I am content, and that I completely trust the Lord has what is best for me in mind, I know that I have to share. I don't know who, but for some reason I know that I am supposed to write this and share this for someone. (If that someone is you, oh please know that my heart breaks for you and that I am praying for you even as I type this out).

Receiving the Rheumatoid Arthritis diagnosis closed the door on one of the biggest hopes and dreams of my life - having another baby. 

No, this diagnosis in and of itself doesn't mean that. There are some medications that you can go on that have less risk for the baby, and a small percentage of women actually have a reduction in their RA symptoms during pregnancy. But that will not be me.

I've known it for awhile. Honestly, I've known it since I transitioned from a walker to a wheelchair during my pregnancy with Jamesy (if you don't know that story yet, you can read about it here). I just haven't wanted to actually say it aloud. When my midwives told me that I would be crazy to want another child because my PGP was so severe that there was a near guarantee of my next pregnancy being even worse than the one with Jamesy... I knew it. When Andrew looked at me time and time again with sadness in his eyes and told me he didn't think we should have another baby even though I begged him to pray about it and tried to convince him that it would be worth the excruciating pain I would more than likely go through... I knew it. When I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia... I knew it.

But when I was hit with this diagnosis? I had to finally admit it.

I had to admit that one of the things I want more than nearly anything else in the world will not be what I will be blessed with. Seeing that on the screen makes me want to throw up if I am honest. I don't want to look at it, because I don't want to acknowledge it. I want to continue to live in my little world where I am better and able to handle another pregnancy and we can welcome another baby (or two or three...) into our lives. But that's not what the Lord has for me. And I don't know why.

There are moments when I can forget this dream, and sometimes depending on the hour with the boys, it's quite easy (ha!). But whenever I see a little baby, whenever I look at my boys growing up so fast, whenever I congratulate another friend on their adorable Instagram announcement, it feels as though I'm underwater and cannot come up for a breath. I sit there and think - why God? Are you trying to rip everything from my hands? You've stripped me of my health, and my ability to play the piano, and my ability to grab my watercolors and just paint at will, and running with my boys, and being the wife I so badly want to be... and then this too? Why?

I don't know why. I may not ever know. Job never found out - his health was restored and he was blessed with more material possessions and other children, but he never found out the reason for his suffering. Never.

But... then tonight I read 2 Corinthians. Specifically 2 Corinthians 1:3-5 and I remembered sweet truth:

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. For as we share abundantly in Christ's sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort too. 

It's not as though I haven't read this verse before. Nor is it that I have forgotten that my God is a God of comfort. Honestly, I have just refused to fight against the lies that are pounding me and saying that the Lord is not for me, that He has spurned my heart's desires, that He loves others more than me.

I know that this is walking in sin. My questioning of God's goodness and plan for my life is akin to telling Him that I know better, that I know what is right and wrong and good and bad more perfectly than He does. It's insanity to think this, because I know the truth. I know that He is a good Father who loves me, who saved and redeemed me, who has my good in mind and who does not allow any suffering to come to me without first allowing to to pass through His hands.

I am mourning. And yet, I feel as though the Lord is opening my eyes to really see this passage of scripture in a new way.

No, I don't know the unfathomable pain of losing a child. No, I cannot relate to years and years of infertility. No, I haven't walked through an adoption process that was so close to closing and then dissolved in the very last moment. But I do know the pain of wanting something so badly it hurts, and having the Lord say "no". I do know what it is like to mourn dreams and hopes and ideas of what life "should" look like and to know that this "season" of suffering isn't likely to be short. I do know what it feels like to have one thing, after another, after another feel like it has been stripped away. I know what it's like to feel alone and helpless and bereaved even in the face of countless blessings. And maybe that's the point.

Maybe that's why the Lord has said "no" to more children. If I can sob alongside another mourning soul who is afflicted and bring them even the tiniest bit of comfort - that will be the Lord working in this. If I can finally admit that we will not be able to have more children, even though my heart literally feels like it is breaking while typing it out - that will be the Lord working in this. And if I can continue to press on to know the heart of my Father and live in His will even when the lies of Him being a "capricious, unloving God" are hurled at my soul - that will be the Lord working in this.

No, I'm not "at peace" about having to give this desire up. I'm not "at peace" with knowing that my Mama's heart that longs for one more child will not be given the opportunity to hold that baby in my womb. I'm not. But I am finally willing to admit that. I am willing to ask the Lord to start the slow and painful process of removing that desire from my heart and replacing it with His desires for my life and family. I am willing to stop praying that the Lord would change Andrew's mind and actually agree to try for "just one more". I'm willing to share this and be honest with my pain and my lack of trust and faith. And honestly, that right there is the Lord working in this.

A Reason to Sing

     (Short update: It's actually slightly funny to see that the last post I wrote on this blog was the announcement of our family taking the steps to become licensed foster parents. How time changes things! In January we became licensed but right before the last inspection and paper signing in December... we found out that we were pregnant. Seriously, the Lord has the most incredibly crazy timing but I wouldn't have changed it for the world. We had two placements earlier this year - a 5 day old and a 7 month old. We loved both dearly, but no longer are fostering for this season... I'm thinking this post will explain more of why).

When the pieces seem too shattered

To gather off the floor

And all that seems to matter

Is that I don't feel You anymore...

I need a reason to sing

I need to know that You're still holding

The whole world in Your hands

I need a reason to sing

When I'm overcome by fear

And I hate everything I know

If this waiting lasts forever

I'm afraid I might let go...

'Cause I need a reason to sing

I need to know that You're still holding

The whole world in Your hands

I need a reason to sing...

     I have not had a pain-free, normal activity level day in over half a year. 

     That sounds crazy in writing, although it's absolutely true. I don't honestly remember what it feels like to spend an entire day with Owen playing and deciding to do things like going to the park across the street from our house. I don't remember going out on a date with Andrew without my walker and needing to "take it slow" and eventually returning to our house exhausted and going straight to bed. I don't really even remember what our "normal" life was like pre-last December. Things have been so upside down and chaotic, I haven't even really sat down and wrote down my thoughts in any other fashion other than prayers in my journal and desperate pleas for prayer through text message to close friends. I decided tonight that had to change. 

     While 1st trimester nausea and sickness were just starting to wind down, I began having pain in my pelvic area that I nervously noticed one day in particular walking through Costco. I had run in to grab last minute ingredients for the Titus family Christmas get together, and felt as though I was going to miscarry the precious baby in my womb. I felt as though the pain was radiating through my entire pelvic bone and I remember not enjoying the evening like I always do with the family because I kept panicking and watching for "signs" that my greatest fear was coming to pass. 

     With great thankfulness, James is now nearly 34 weeks and I was not indeed having a miscarriage that December evening. The pain continued though, and when I went in for my very first visit with my midwives on the 28th of December, I was already at the point where I asked for a referral for physical therapy or whatever they thought would help. (Those who know me well know that I very rarely will bring up pain that I have been experiencing on my own accord to my doctors... Andrew didn't have to prod me to bring it up that morning, I already knew it was bad). The words "Pelvic Girdle Pain" came into my vocabulary and I began weekly physical therapy with a pelvic area specialist the very first week in January.

     Fast forward to now. As the months have passed, my pain has sometimes slowly and sometimes quickly progressed. I cannot walk outside the house without the help of a walker, and many days I cannot even get that far. I've been issued a disabled parking permit by my doctors, and have used it gratefully every time I end up getting outside of the house. My various pelvic support bands are essential for any amount of walking and I've gotten to the point where if I reach the top of our stairs without one on, I immediately turn around and go back into the house to get it - it's just not worth it to move without it on, no matter how sick of it I am.

     I have been in bed more hours this half of a year than many years of my life combined. I thought that the three months I was near bed-ridden with mold toxicity in 2014 were terrible, but I could always close my eyes and lay down and find some sort of relief from the dizziness, some release of the faintness that clouded all the rest of the hours of my day. This time around, nothing has helped. If I lay down too long, my pelvis grows more and more tender and painful, and yet if I don't lay down enough during the day I quite literally collapse. What used to be uncomfortable is now horrific pain, and what used to be annoying is now the audible sound of grinding in areas of my pelvis that I know enough of the human body to know should never be a normal occurrence. Sleeping used to be the time of relief, but with every move, every readjustment I wake with mind-numbing pain and trips to the bathroom (which are even more now that I'm in the blessed third trimester) make me wonder if I can actually complete the following day.

     Regardless, life goes on each and every day. Owen needs to be cared for and nurtured. Dishes and clothes need to be washed. Dinner needs to be cooked, and life needs to go on. Unfortunately, nearly every single thing that I used to do and complain and grumble frequently about goes undone - falling onto my sweet husband's plate for the time between Owen finally getting to sleep (about 9pm) and when he personally collapses into bed (normally between 11:30-12am). The one routine that has remained somewhat in tact is homeschool - it's become what I look forward almost more than anything else with Owen. He adores it, and I can sit next to him and watch his eyes fill with joy and wonder as concepts begin to connect and paint gets splattered as he learns to mix colors. And reading. Oh, the sheer amount of books he and I have read together on the bed or the couch... those two things remain nearly "normal", like a sweet God-ordained relief from the hellish season I feel utterly trapped in.

...Will there be a victory?
Will You sing it over me now?
Your peace is the melody
Will You sing it over me now?...

     I broke down last night. Realizing that it's been over a half of a year in this pain feels overwhelming. Mind-numbing. Debilitating. The worst part is the fear that while I am only 7 weeks from my due date, most women who have this severe of PGP are not immediately well after delivery, averaging about 6 weeks of post-labor recovery until they are somewhat back to normal, and around 6-12 months. Sometimes, like last night and parts of today, I literally do not know if I can handle that. I am seeing my sweet family less and less as they have to do most of their activities without me. I am missing out on one of the sweetest seasons with Owen, and even more so, the last season of it being just him and me. I miss my husband, the most servant-hearted and tender man I have ever met in my life, because when he puts me to bed at night, it is as if his night has only begun. 

     So today, after driving to another PT appointment, I listened to this song ("Reason to Sing" by All Sons and Daughters) on repeat, holding back tears and realizing that I actually AM in this season that seems often like a never ending nightmare. I don't know when it will get better for sure, and I don't know what it looks like for me to be a mama and wife and daughter and friend when I don't do any of the things that used to define those categories to me. I feel many times like a burden and a waste, lazy and dramatic at best. I know these are lies, without question. But they are a daily fight to keep in their place as lies and not allow them to creep into what feels like truth. If I am honest, I am at a loss to think of how these next 7+ weeks will look like, but maybe I don't need to know. 

     Because... even through every single moment of pain and anxiety and what feels like my heart falling into some sort of darkness, I know the end of the story. I know that one day, some day, every tear will be wiped away. Every disease will be erased. Every pain, painful memory, and hurt will be healed in an instant. I used to fear reading the book of Revelation, thinking that it was too scary and weird and would give nightmares. But going through the book this past year in Bible Study Fellowship, the Lord encouraged me through the one book of the Bible I vowed I never would enjoy, and never find comfort in. At the perfect time, the Lord brought me through those chapters, and showed me that He may not heal me. Not in my timing at least. But I can rest securely knowing that one day, that beautiful one day, everything will be gone aside from joy in His glory and my praise and adoration of Him. That this really is a "light and momentary suffering" even when the hours feel like generations and the pain is nearly unbearable. 

     So, I'm not sure. Not sure how to process this, not sure how to communicate what has been on my heart and mind for months, and not sure how to stand in that last paragraph when all I want to do is wave a white flag of surrender and quit. But for now, for tonight, I get to share. I get to open up the wounds that have been festering, and not worry about trying to put on a cute outfit and makeup so that even when I can barely take steps with the walker I can appear to have it together, but actually just be here and real and honest. Because I've sat here before. Typing away on this very same laptop sobbing and crying out to the Lord because I don't understand. As I worried and was wracked with anxiety throughout Owen's pregnancy, as I nearly lost my life to Postpartum Depression, as my body was slowly shutting down due to mold toxicity, as I mourned yet another month of a negative pregnancy test... and yet, the Lord at each and every moment has been good. His will has been done, and I have not been let go of. I do not believe in the least "whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger" but I do believe that in my weakness He is my strength. That His grace IS sufficient and that His power IS made perfect in my weakness. I may not "feel it" but I cling to that truth as the pain tells me to lay down and stop typing. And, Lord willing, I will continue to cling because He will continue for eternity to be worth it - even when I don't cling and find that it is He who is doing the holding. 

...'Cause I need a reason to sing
I need to know that You're still holding
The whole world in Your hands
And that is a reason to sing...

We Are Thrilled To Announce...

Yup. It's time to finally stop being afraid of the what if's and come clean - Andrew and I are in the process of becoming licensed foster parents!

There is still a long way to go, including, but not limited to: home visits, finishing the last couple sessions of our 24-hour caregiver training and TB tests. But, although some of our friends and family know about this huge and exciting and terrifying new step for our family, we wanted to announce it to all of you for a few reasons. 

First, and most importantly, we absolutely have to be covered in prayer. It already is an emotionally and physically exhausting process, and we fully expect it to continue to become more so as we progress closer to being licensed and when we get our first placement(s). Please, please pray for us whenever we cross your mind. Send us emails or texts or call us and encourage us, because quite frankly, there are moments when everything feels overwhelming, but there's never a moment when we are doubting that this is God's next step for our family. Support is critical and prayer is essential. For those of you already covering our family and this process in prayer, thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Secondly, we wanted to start to prepare you all, our friends and family. Yes, we understand that you are not going through this process, but there are going to be a lot of things that are the same when we become licensed, as well as some massive changes that have to take place especially concerning our transparency with details of our family life (namely the information regarding our foster children). We typically have been an extremely open family, and I am clearly not shy to broadcast our struggles, joys, and prayers aloud for all. With this new step though, there are going to be many things that we simply cannot share with you and many things that you all will just have to be ok with knowing little, if anything, about. 

I have been looking into ways to share this type of information with everyone, and found an amazing blog which freely offered a form letter for friends and family. What follows is portions of that blog (which the author gave permission to freely use and change at will) and some of my own heart and ramblings. Please, please take a moment to read through it. 

Beloved friends and family,

We know that our decision to foster will affect you as well, and we are so hoping and praying that this blog (also being sent out to family and friends via email and snail mail) will help to answer some of your questions and set us all up for success in this new season. 

I want to start off by saying that I apologize for this being so long, and sometimes a bit bossy in tone. If you know me even a small bit, you know that I am terribly afraid of hurting people through words, but I pray that this blog/email/letter is received by everyone in the way it is intended - I love you, Andrew loves you, and we just want to make sure our future kiddos feel loved as well. Please don't hesitate to ask me, or Andrew or both of us any questions whatsoever - we love talking about this stuff! And don't worry, you'll be bombarded with information and will totally not be left in the dark when we, Lord willing, get our first placement.

What to Expect

We know that the process of becoming fully licensed can take several months, but our prayer is that we will have our first placement before the end of this year. We are open to one (or possibly two if the Lord so should make that clear to both of us) children from birth to about 2 years old. Boy or girl. Any nationality, language, culture. We could get a call for a placement the day that we're licensed or it could be several weeks or months before we get a call. The child(ren) could be staying with us anywhere from a few days to several years.

Confidentiality

When we get a placement, we will share with you (not on social media though) the child(ren)'s names, ages, birthdates, personalities and other such details. However, the family history, reasons for placement, medical status and other specific aspects of the children's lives are strictly confidential and we will not be able to share these details with anyone, including our most intimate friends and relatives. Please do not take this personally, but we absolutely cannot share many details about the kids.

Pictures

Policy is quite strict with pictures of foster children, and before you post any pictures of our future foster children, please contact us to make sure they are ok and that we approve any pictures or tags or comments about said pictures before posting. I know this is going to be hard for some people, but please trust us, and know that we are trying our hardest to have their best interests in mind, as well as following the WACs that we signed off as consenting to follow. We will really need your cooperation in this one. 

Inclusion in Family and Gift Giving Policy

Other than those confidentiality issues I mentioned, we will treat these children as members of our family. We must insist that everyone respect this policy. The foster children will be treated equally to how our biological children (well, Owen so far... this is not an announcement of something else so don't read into that one...) and this is especially relevant when it comes to holidays, birthdays or other gift-giving occasions. We never expect gifts for any of our children. But, if you choose to give gifts, you'll need to plan to give equally to all of the kids who are in our care at that time.

What Do They Call Us?

Our foster children will have the option of calling us by our first names, or "mom and dad". We will invite them to address you all with the same terms as Owen uses.

What Do We Call Them?

No child wants to be known as "the foster kid". We will refer to any children in our care as our kids, our son, our daughter. We ask that you please be sensitive to this, and do not refer to a child or introduce them as a "foster child". Feel free to refer to them as you would with Owen (my grandchild, my niece, my nephew) or if that isn't comfortable for you, you can refer to them as our child (my brother's son, my friend's daughter, etc.).

With all that being said, we are incredibly thrilled to start walking this road. We feel so supported and loved already, and have had many tear-filled and joy-filled conversations with so many of you already. Thank you for loving us and our family as how God has it today, as well as in the future.

I'll be posting a blog in the coming days/weeks about why we decided to walk towards foster care, and what we believe the Lord has burdened our hearts with specifically. Please, again, don't hesitate to ask questions or contact us. We can't wait and want you to walk with us :)

Ostriches

I've been struggling with not being an ostrich. 

You know. The animal that buries it's head in the sand and knows it has seen something and yet does nothing? Actually, let's be honest, it does more than nothing - it actively looks away and takes the effort needed to try and ignore whatever was seen.

Yeah. That's been me.

The Lord has been drawing me out of this for a while now, but for years I have either just barely held my head above the sand before yanking it back down, or have told others (including myself) that my head is above ground while still being very much buried. 

William Wilberforce, an English abolitionist and lover of Jesus, once said "you may chose to look the other way, but you can never say again that you did not know". I heard this quote from a dear friend a few months back and I can't shake it. I want to, my inner ostrich wants to so badly, but I just can't. Wilberforce spent his life making sure that he did not ignore the suffering around him, even when he could have easily turned away. He spoke up for those who were being silenced and raised his voice against oppression and injustice even when those around him hated him all the more for it. 

I can't help but wonder - what is different between myself and Wilberforce? If I am to believe the Gospel, which I do, it means that both he and I have the same redemption bought on the cross of Christ, the same indwelling of the Holy Spirit and same Heavenly Father who knows the very hairs on our head. And yet, I sit here so willing to blog about injustices and pain and so unwilling to push aside the false sense of comfort and security to actually stand with the hurting, to fight for the broken, to love the unloved. 

I joined Noonday almost a year ago with the desire to do something about the injustices around the world, to fight alongside the mama who couldn't put food on her child's plate and to encourage the domestic violence surviver to continue her work even when it felt like it wasn't making any difference. I loved Noonday, and still do. But God called me away from it in January of this year and for some reason, didn't tell me exactly why.

I wish that I could write that now I know what that why is, but I cannot. I do know that He is asking me to actually wake up though. I've been living in such a dream-like Christianity for far too long. I've been comfortable with pain at a distance, hunger across the street, and sexual exploitation a click away. But, praise the Lord, He is slowly ripping the "ok-ness" from my naive heart. It's so easy to journal that out, but I know myself - without a public affirmation I am so much more likely to slip back into my normal life, my head hiding and my ear plugging way of living that I've grown so accustomed to. 

I read the short book Risk is Right by John Piper over the weekend. After reading more than half of the book Girls Like Us by Rachel Lloyd over the second half of last week, I was feeling cut open. I couldn't put it down, but at the same time was loosing hope page by page and line by line. I was forgetting so quickly that I serve the God of Justice, and the Lord of Redemption and Life. Andrew pointed this out to me, and I consumed the Piper book in one sitting, pouring over the words that were so providential and so needed. 

Piper reminded me through the short book that as a woman who loves Jesus, it's not about me staying comfy. In fact, my comfy Christian life is nothing but a waste. Risking comfort, "security" and even life itself for the sake of the Gospel and loving those around me with no limits is where I will meet the will of God. I don't mean to say that I am not saved here in my comfy Christianity, but that my sitting here is not what Jesus meant when he said "go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you" (Matthew 28:19-20). 

This question that was posed in the second half of the book hit me harder than I expected it to:

"And now what about you? Are you caught in the enchantment of security,

paralyzed from taking any risks for the cause of God? Or have you been 

freed by the power of the Holy Spirit from the mirage of Egyptian slavery

and comfort?... do you women ever say with Esther, 'For the sake of Christ,

I'll try it! and if I perish, I perish'?"

Can I be honest with you? That question scares me. It did Saturday night, and it does this afternoon. Scares me to think about the "what if's". The "how would's" and then the "and then's". But I do not believe for a second that the Lord is doing something in my heart merely to stop when I become afraid. In fact, I believe the exact opposite. I fully expect Him to change my heart until I see him face to face, and even if the change and molding is painful and uncomfortable, I know it will be for his glory and my good. 

Walk with me? Please, please read Girls Like Us. It's painful and sickening and one of the hardest books I have ever read. But it is so needed. Needed for my ostrich heart to be jolted from this near comatose state of living and be willing to throw my comfort down and say "if I perish I perish, but I have to walk forward". I don't know what the Lord will do through that book in each of your hearts and lives, and I know that not everyone will be called to change their lives radically or move to India to walk with women or girls rescued from the sex industry. But some of us/you might. I don't know that the Lord will spark in your heart a desire to foster children so that the stream of runaways and sweet children abused and cast aside by society are instead loved well and deeply and pimps have less of a chance to lure hurting girls into the life. But some of us/you might be called to that. 

Pray with me? That the Lord would completely break our hearts for what breaks his. That he would fill us anew with his love and passion and strength and that we would do whatever he asks of us. No matter the risk. No matter the cost. 

I can't live like this anymore. You?